


What's Left Behind

by phoebesmum



Category: Sports Night
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-27
Updated: 2010-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/phoebesmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two strangers meet at random to discover they have more than a little in common, and a secret is uncovered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Written July 2009 for smallfandomfest, prompt: _Dan/Casey, the ex(es)_. Many thanks to kmousie for beta-reading and excising Britishisms.

The first time Rebecca went to a book group meeting, she made a rookie mistake: she actually read the damned book.

She realised her error as soon as she tripped through the front door, _Memoirs of a Geisha_ conscientiously tucked under one arm. But everyone was very kind; nobody laughed. They'd all been new once, they'd all been in her shoes. You lived and learned.

"I read it too," somebody chirped from the back of the room. "_Someone_ has to set a standard around here."

Their hostess shot her a challenging look. "Oh, yeah? So, what's it about, Jenna?"

"China," Jenna said laconically, and this time everyone did laugh.

"Japan, actually," Rebecca murmured, a little diffident but wanting to play along. Jenna just shrugged and waved a hand.

"China, Japan," she declared, with a sweeping disregard both for political correctness and fact, "It's all the same. More importantly, honey – white, or red?"

She wasn't talking about chess pieces. Rebecca opted for white, accepted the glass that was pressed into her hand, and went with the flow.

At the next month's meeting she arrived forewarned, a bottle of Pinot Grigio in one hand and a plate of cheesecake in the other.

She found she got along just fine.

***

Being divorced isn't the same as being separated. One's divorced, one's separated: that's why they're called those things.

And being married is like neither of the above, and none of them are anything like being single. You can never go home again –

(Not that Rebecca has any particular desire to go home, thank you very much. Her mother doesn't _say_ a lot, but she doesn't have to; her looks and her heavy sighs speak for her.)

– you can never go back to the way things were. How could you? _You're_ not the person you were. You've learned, you've grown, you've been through the fire, and now all you have to show for it is burnt fingers.

Rebecca's finding out the hard way that attractive, thirtysomething divorced women are a drug on the market: surplus to requirement, and a nightmare to offload. Her single friends have moved on and don't have anything in common with her any longer; her married friends … were mostly Steve's friends, and she lost them in the divorce, but even the few that remain tend to avoid her nowadays, as though divorce might be contagious. And the other women in the same situation, her sisters in separation and solitude? _They_ don't want her around; they don't need the competition, thanks very much. Rebecca can hardly blame them. She feels much the same way about them.

All of which means that her social life has diminished, shrunk from the glittering, if strictly B-list, round of premieres and awards shows and parties that was life-with-Steve to the far less glamorous haunts of the desperate and lonely: after-office get-togethers, speed dates, solitary trips to museums and galleries … hell, she's even found herself dawdling as she pushes her cart round the supermarket, just to spend a little more time in the places where people are. And book groups.

_Book groups_, Rebecca had thought, wrinkled her nose, and moved on to the next item on the online notice board ("Release your Inner Woman through the timeless mystery of belly-dance!").

But she'd reconsidered. Living alone with nothing but the TV for company, she'd been afraid her brain might be starting to atrophy. At least (she'd thought) a book group would help her meet people who read, people who should be able to make semi-intelligent conversation. She wasn't looking to join the Algonquin Round Table; she just needed something a little more stimulating than discussion of _Survivor_ or cooing over other people's baby photos.

And so here she is, a veteran now. She, along with the rest of the group, has not-read her way through _Girl With a Pearl Earring_, _A Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing_, _The Other Boleyn Girl_ (she hopes that some day soon they'll graduate to not-reading books that refer to women _as_ women) and, in a break from the trend, _Captain Corelli's Mandolin_. In return, she has what passes for a social circle; friends, she guesses. They've drunk a lot of wine together, that's for sure, and shared their life stories. She knew she couldn't be the only bored and lonely woman in New York City, and it looks as though she's found her tribe.

Which would be fine, except … you know. Most of those life stories are sad stories, and, once you've heard one sad story, you've pretty much heard them all. Rebecca is inclined to think that her own has a slight edge over the others – the least you can expect from having had an emotionally abusive husband is that it'll gain you sympathy points, whilst having had the perfect man and let him slip through her fingers must count as ironic tragedy, surely? – but no; everyone thinks the same, that their own experience is new and special, unparalleled by anybody else's.

It all gets pretty old pretty soon. But she keeps on going.

It's that, or nothing at all.

***

Here's a secret: every so often, Rebecca actually does read the set title. Her lifestyle's expanded a little bit now, but even working late most nights at the office, even with Pilates twice a week, her vintage movie club, her cookery classes and book group, she still has a lot of time on her hands. And although the group's choices tend toward chicklit with pretensions, every so often they pick something a little more ambitious. This month she's working her way through _The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay_. It's taking her a while, partly because it's hard going, partly because it keeps making her cry, and partly – she might as well admit this out loud, since there's no-one to hear except the spider that's living in a corner of her bedroom ceiling – because it makes her think, if only by random association, of Dan. Danny would love this book, she thinks, and wonders if he's read it; wonders if she could send him a copy with a note saying _this reminded me of you_ and whether, if she did, he would call her, and –

No. There's no point trying to shoulder your way down a dead end. Dan had made it perfectly clear what his feelings were and where his loyalties lay. Even though the show had survived, even though he'd stayed in town and hadn't gone to California, he'd never called her. And she didn't really blame him. It must have hurt, knowing what he did of Steve Sisco, to have come in second-best to a man like that. (That's how Dan would have thought of it. Rebecca knows _him_ well enough to know that.)

She actually does pick up the phone one night, after an especially bad day at the office and the subsequent consumption of quite a lot of vodka, but comes to her senses in time and slams it down before the first ring.

Dan's probably already read the book anyway.

***

There's someone new at book group tonight: a blonde woman, some years older than Rebecca and out-of-her-league classier; Rebecca estimates that her Prada bag probably cost more than every stitch that she herself is wearing, including her eBay knock-off Louboutins. She's introduced around the group, shakes hands, smiles, and settles in, right at home, as though she'd been coming here for years. She didn't even bring a book, just two bottles of Merlot.

Rebecca doesn't warm to her.

Still, Rebecca's mother went to considerable pains to drum good manners into her head, so when they bump into one another in the kitchen later, Rebecca summons up an extra-bright smile and a cheery, "Hi!" and the other woman – Lisa – smiles back in a friendly enough way and nods toward the tray of dirty glasses Rebecca's just put down and is now loading methodically into the dishwasher.

"You're the perfect guest," she observes. "You couldn't come to my house and do the same for me?"

Rebecca summons up a smile, determining not to feel patronised. "This is just avoidance strategy," she confides, her eyes straying toward the open door and the TV set playing quietly to itself in a corner of the living room. "At home, I'm a total slob."

Lisa grins, and suddenly seems much more approachable. "You live on your own?" Rebecca nods. "You're lucky. I have a teenaged son, so I have to set a good example. It's _hell_ when all I want to do is kick off my shoes and veg out." She bends to pull a wine bottle from the rack by the refrigerator and, straightening, regards it thoughtfully. "I wonder, is one bottle going to be enough?" She, too, glances back toward the living room, and grimaces. "That's my ex-husband on the TV in there. Believe me, there's not enough wine in the world to make _that_ bearable. What do you think – would it be rude to ask if we could change channels? Nobody's watching anyhow."

Rebecca blinks. Small world. True, they say that if you stand in Times Square long enough you'll meet everyone you know, but surely the odds diminish with distance, and, out here in the suburbs, they're miles from any landmark. "You were married to Casey McCall?" she asks, just to check she's hearing correctly, and Lisa nods.

"For my sins. Although, truthfully, I have no idea what I did that was _that_ sinful. If I'd realised at the time, I'd've taken good care to have more fun doing it."

"I used to date Dan Rydell," Rebecca says, rather faintly. It's Lisa's turn to blink, and then her whole face suddenly softens.

"Oh, my _dear_," she says, sympathy and concern vying for prominence. "I'm so sorry. I don't suppose it's any consolation, but you're not the only one. That man dates like infidelity's going out of fashion. Not that it's any wonder, really, seeing that he's been madly in love with my husband for the past thirteen years."

The floortiles seem to dip and sway beneath Rebecca's feet, and she reaches for the counter to steady herself. "In love with – ?" she echoes. "You think Danny's in love with _Casey?!_"

Lisa's expression changes. "You didn't realise?" Her hand's on Rebecca's arm, steadying her. She takes a glass from the tray, rinses it under the tap, fills it from an open bottle and puts it into Rebecca's hand. "Here." She stands back. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to upset you. Truly, I was kidding."

Rebecca puts down the glass, half-empty already. "No," she says, certainly, "you weren't."

Lisa shrugs. "No, I wasn't, but – well. Okay, I say 'love' – it's really more of a crush. Hero-worship, I guess you'd call it. To be fair," she says, although her lips curl in distaste as she does so, "he was only nineteen when he met Casey, and kind of messed up."

"He still is," Rebecca says, and Lisa nods.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" She touches Rebecca's shoulder. "Believe me, honey, you're better off out of it. Whatever those two have going on between them, it doesn't leave any room for outsiders. Trust me." She smiles bitterly. "It might be a crush for Dan, but as far as Casey's concerned, it's the real thing. One day I'd had enough, and I just flat-out asked him. And I got the answer I didn't want." The smile vanishes. "He'd never do anything about it - you know how Casey is - but still, it killed my marriage. It took ten years to do it, but it killed it, stone dead, sure as I'm standing here."

"I guess it would," Rebecca says faintly, and then, "Lisa, would you excuse me?"

She needs some air. More than that: she needs to speak to Danny. _Now_.

It turns out it's not so hard to dial his number after all.

This time she even waits until he picks up.

***

They meet in a bar. Not Anthony's; they've shared too many nights at Anthony's, it's haunted by too many memories. Rebecca doesn't need memories clouding her thoughts tonight. It's hard enough just seeing Dan's face again. Somehow she'd forgotten just how good-looking he is, how charismatic, how simply being near him can make her dizzy as a stupid schoolgirl, weak in the knees, pathetic and needy as any of the heroines in the books she's been not-reading all year.

God forbid she should have turned into one of _those_ women. It's bad enough reading about them, never mind _being_ one.

So she takes a deep breath and jumps right in.

"What did you mean," she asks him, "when you told me you'd never make a fool out of me?"

Dan looks startled – unsurprisingly; it had come out rather more confrontational than she'd intended – but, to his credit, doesn't bluster or stall or ask her what she means.

"I meant what I said," he says quietly. "That is – at the time, if I remember correctly, I was promising not to sleep with any of your co-workers, especially ones you particularly disliked, but mostly I meant what I said. I meant that I'd be honest with you, and listen when you talked, and help you if you needed it – let you help _me_, if I needed it. I meant I cared about you, and that, if you'd let me, I'd care for you too. Amongst other things."

There's a knot in her throat. Damn him. Why does he have to be so – so _Danny?_ And be damned if she's going to let him make her cry. She's done all the crying she ever means to do over Dan Rydell or any other man.

"I met Casey's wife tonight," she somehow manages to say. It comes out a little bit strangled, but, considering everything, not too bad.

The expression that crosses Dan's face is so identical to Lisa's when she spoke of him that, despite herself, Rebecca almost laughs.

"Wow," he says, apparently deeply impressed. "The odds against that must be … I don't know, I think you must've rewritten the law of very large numbers. That would explain it."

"Explain what?"

"Whatever it is that's biting you." He looks up at her under his lashes and smiles, warm, reassuring. Dan's smile is impossibly sweet. For all the things she had forgotten, she had never forgotten that. "Lisa spreads sunshine wherever she goes. She made Casey's life a misery for ten years, which meant that she made _my_ life a misery too – and Dana's, and everyone else's who worked with us. It'd be too much to hope for to think that she'd changed. What did she say to you?"

Okay: moment of truth. Now or never. Never isn't an option, so …

"She told me you and Casey were in love."

"_What?!_"

So much for discretion. Now everybody in the bar's looking at them. Dan looks up, looks around, shrugs, smiles in apology, waves it away. Then he turns back to Rebecca.

"I didn't realise she'd gone crazy," he says, and tries to laugh. "You'd think the news would've spread."

She won't have that. She won't let him just brush it off. She needs an answer: a real answer.

So does Dan. Whether he knows it or not, whether he likes it or not.

"So you're saying it's not true?" she presses him.

"Seriously, Rebecca – "

"You're not gay?"

She's lowered her voice, but he still winces and casts another, more wary, glance around them both.

"You said you'd never make a fool of me, Danny. Tell me the truth, now."

His head snaps up at that. "It didn't stop you from making a fool out of _me_." Then he slumps, sighs, defeated. "I'm sorry." He reaches for his beer bottle but seems to think again; his hands drop into his lap. "You make concessions," he says at last. "You compromise. For what you want, for what you need. And I wanted to work in sports."

"And you can't be gay in sports." It's a statement, not a question. She didn't live with Steve Sisco all those years without learning the way things are out there in the real world.

He lifts one shoulder listlessly. "_Gay_ was never the word, not really. I told you, when I was a kid – I was pretty wild, I was out of control. Girls, boys, it didn't make much difference to me. So all I had to do was pick one over the other." He manages a smile. "I made a choice. I love women. I've been in love with women." He nods toward her, finally picks up his beer, and raises it in what may or may not be an ironic salute. "Case in point."

All of which is certainly true; Danny doesn't lie. But – "But you also love Casey."

"No …"

Except to himself.

"Would it make a difference if Casey loved _you?_"

She has him there: a flare of wild, reckless hope lights his eyes – just for a second; he masks it right away, but not before she's seen it.

So she tells him what Lisa had said.

He tries to laugh it away. "Rebecca. Remember, I told you she was crazy?"

"No," Rebecca says simply. "She's not. And you know it, Danny."

For a moment it seems as though he'll argue some more, but then he shakes his head. "I do," he says softly. "I do. I need …" He swallows, hard. "I need to talk to Casey."

"Yes," she says, her own voice harsher than she'd intended. "I guess you do." She sighs – had she hoped that somehow, impossibly, he could convince her she was wrong? – and starts to stand up. "It was good to see you again, Danny."

"Hey!" He puts out his hand to stop her. "We don't have to do it right this minute. Casey and I've spent the past thirteen years dancing around one another – what's another day?" He manages an unconvincing smile, one that does nothing to disguise the simple, basic truth: he's terrified. "So – other than that – how are things with you?"

_Other than that?_ she thinks. _Other than finding out that the man I used to love is so far into the closet he can see Narnia, you mean?_

"I'm fine," she says, as firmly as she knows how, and she leans forward, covers his hands with her own. "Danny. You need to talk to Casey, and you need to do it now. Don't you think you've wasted more than enough time?"

"I – " It's the beginning of a protest, but she can tell it's half-hearted, and holds up a hand to shush him.

"Danny. It's okay. I'll be fine. Maybe a little dented around the ego, but – fine. Truly, I was over you a long, long time ago."

"Were you?" he says quietly, and smiles up at her as she stands, a small, wistful smile. "I wish I could say the same. I really did love you, Rebecca. Believe me. You were never my second choice."

The sad thing is, he truly believes he means that. He _does_ mean that. That's Dan's great weakness: he cares about everyone, can't bear to hurt anybody, tries to be everything to everybody until he's stretched so thin that he no longer knows who _he_ is. And then he falls apart.

He did love her. _Did_ (oh, lord, there are some words that should never, ever be consigned to the past tense). But it wasn't enough. Maybe if she'd been stronger, they could have made it work; maybe not. Who can tell?

"I'll see you around," she tells him. "Take care, Danny." And she turns her back and walks away.

***

Rebecca takes the subway home. She stays plugged into her personal stereo the whole way, shutting out the world, shutting out her thoughts.

But you can't hide from your thoughts forever, and at night, when she's alone in bed, they return to haunt her.

_What did you expect? You had your chance, and you blew it. Maybe if you'd chosen differently, you'd have been enough for him. Maybe you'd have been the one to make him forget Casey. Maybe you could have made it work._

But, then again: maybe not. Maybe Dan would have tried so hard to be the person she needed him to be that he'd eventually have crashed and burned. Maybe she'd have sensed somehow that she wasn't what he wanted and grown to hate him.

Maybe, possibly, perhaps, who knows? However it might have turned out, this is what they're left with.

She'll quit the book club, she decides. It's nothing personal; she doesn't hold a grudge against anyone there. It's just that, really, she doesn't have the time, and she can just as easily read at home.

Perhaps she'll get a pet. Not a cat or a dog, she's not ready for that level of commitment. A bird, maybe, or perhaps a fish. Something she won't love too much, something that won't break her heart when it leaves her. It's bound to leave her some day. Nothing lasts forever.

She'll start over, no more reflection, no regrets. No more hiding: she'll go out, find what life has to give, and grab it before it slips away. Some people may waste a decade of their lives afraid of getting what they want, but Rebecca isn't one of those people. Not any more she's not.

She's nobody's second best, no-one's fall-back plan.

She won't allow herself to be this: the one who's always left behind.

***


End file.
